STAR
by LeE-81881
Summary: Mac goes to Harm after killing Sadik.


STAR  
  
  
  
  
  
Author: LeE  
  
  
  
E-mail: lee_81881@yahoo.com  
  
  
  
Classification: Songfic, sort of H/M   
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimers and Spoilers: JAG is property of DPB and CBS. I just borrow the characters and have a little fun writing, that's all. Anything up to "Persian Gulf" is fair game. :) The song is "Star" by Bryan Adams.  
  
Author's note: This is my version of Mac "blowing up at Harm", according to spoilers for the "Take it like a man" episode. This story as written a few days before the episode and posted in other groups. And I do plan to continue this story. Also, I don't really know where all the positivism came from, really, but it's there and it was about time I think. This wasn't beta-read. All mistakes are mine. Now on with it .  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harm's Apartment  
  
North of Union Station  
  
2313 EST  
  
  
  
  
  
"Hi" The edge of the red scarf she wore twisted around her fingers as she stood there with dancing eyes that belied the emptiness within. Even with the space separating them, he could smell the clean refreshing scent that was strictly hers.   
  
  
  
Everything in him screamed to reach out and touch her, to make sure she was really there. Before the disastrous events in Paraguay, he would've done just that. Then again, before Paraguay, he wouldn't have had to wait around in his empty apartment, because he would've been with her - wherever it was that she'd gone - regardless of weather his presence represented a liability or not. They would've found a way to work around it, to work together as a team, to maximize their strengths and protect each other's weaknesses. Instead, he'd tucked Mattie into bed against her adamant protests and had even managed to sneak in a kiss to her forehead after she'd squeezed his hand in a show of support unexpected of every other teenager but her. He'd spent most of the evening staring out the window thinking about Mac. Anxious thoughts of helplessness had tormented him. Before Paraguay she would've wanted him with her. Before Paraguay, she would've told him she didn't need him, but her eyes would've given away the truth. But that had been before... before.   
  
  
  
"Are you okay?"   
  
  
  
Nodding, she managed a faint smile. "You're hearing's getting better" she said softly, fighting the tears that threatened to fall at the sight of him. Lowering his eyes, his gaze focused on the growing bruise now coloring her right cheek.   
  
  
  
Tenderness overcame his features and he reached out his hand in a gesture so heartbreakingly familiar the fist around her heart tightened as his cool fingers brushed her skin. "Mac..."  
  
  
  
Their eyes met and held for the longest second before she moved her head away. "I'm okay, Harm. Can I, uh..can I come in?"  
  
  
  
Nodding slowly he held the door open for her and watched as she walked over to the couch. Unaware of his movement, he followed her and found himself face to face with her as she turned to sit down. Managing a sheepish smile he stepped back and averted his eyes, slightly embarrassed.   
  
  
  
"You, uh, want some tea?" God, he needed something to do with his hands; something other than her to occupy his thoughts at least for a few minutes.  
  
  
  
"Yeah. Thanks."   
  
  
  
Harm shuffled over to the kitchen taking a deep breath to prepare himself for what lay ahead. He wasn't sure, but he had the nagging feeling that Sadik was on his way to hell. Looking at her empty and desolate eyes he could feel nothing but the need to protect her; to make her feel safe, and wanted, and needed, and...loved. Silently, she padded toward the window and he turned his head from his place in the kitchen and simply watched her.   
  
  
  
The past year it had felt as if he didn't know her anymore. Even before the fateful events of Paraguay, he'd known they were drifting. They'd been as distanced as they'd ever been, and yet here she was. A little voice reminded him that she was here because Webb wasn't available. Offering a mental shrug he cast the thought aside. He didn't give a damn where Webb was. He should. She would probably want Clay with her at a moment like this, he reasoned. They'd been together since Paraguay, and as painful as it was, she had made it pretty clear she'd rather be with Clay than with him. Still, he couldn't help but feel this was a heaven sent opportunity to show her that he could still be her friend. He had told her once that he never wanted to lose her, and he couldn't think of a time when those words had been more fitting than they were now.  
  
  
  
Watching her and thinking over the past few days, he marveled at the strength of their unspoken connection. How was it that after all this time, after all the pain, and anger, and hurt, and misunderstandings; how was it that he still needed her as much as he needed to breathe? Well, for once, he knew the answer to that. Shaking his head, he studied his own hollow smile reflected in the kitchen window.   
  
  
  
Hadn't he given it all up for her? Hadn't he risked everything he had- as she'd well reminded him - everything people thought he cared about just to keep her safe? And hadn't he spent six months on "the dark side" - as she'd also pointed out - as a failed attempt at living with only half his heart? Well, he had. Because he loved her. The unconditional kind of love. The kind of love that changed you. The kind of love that spinned you, and dropped you, and lifted you. Yeah, the kind of love that destroyed you, that drove you crazy...the kind of love that couldn't be matched, and therefore destined to be never returned.   
  
  
  
But, those were thoughts for another time. Thoughts he'd save for quiet evenings alone when his fingers plucked the strings and he allowed the unfairness of life to rear its ugly head. Because regardless of what either of them felt, he *knew* that tonight wouldn't be about righting past wrongs. The proverbial slate wouldn't be wiped clean. After all, eight years couldn't be washed away that effortlessly.   
  
  
  
So, no. Tonight wouldn't be the night. But maybe someday. Someday soon, he hoped. Because he'd accepted the past months that, while blissful happiness would only ever exist in his dreams, maybe contentment wasn't completely out of reach. So he'd be the friend she needed. The friend he wanted to be. He would always be that. And the pain would lessen as he learned to accept that replacing his dreams with his reality was the only way left for him to survive. And so, knowing that even if she couldn't love him, she needed him enough to come to him; that she needed him enough to admit it, was more than the converted realist within him could ever ask for.   
  
  
  
"Harm?"  
  
  
  
Belatedly, he realized he'd been spoken to, and turning his attention back to her he offered a smile and grabbed the two mugs of tea he couldn't remember fixing.   
  
  
  
"Here you go" he murmured as he wandered over towards her and she took the steaming mug from his hand.   
  
  
  
Long minutes passed, with both of them simply standing by each other, gazing out the window into the dark starry night. As the silence extended, he searched his brain for something to say, and he wished he had a story to tell her about the constellations, wished that he could point his finger at his favorite star and make her smile. But he didn't even have a favorite star. There hadn't really been much time to sit and look at the sky while he was growing up. He wished he could open his mouth and talk until he made her forget why she was even there. He wished he knew what was going through her head so that, for once, he could say what she wanted to hear. What she needed to hear. Heck, he wished he had an earphone and God himself fed him the right words. He laughed inwardly at himself and closed his eyes.   
  
  
  
"You don't have to say anything, Harm." Slowly, he opened his eyes, and was startled by the tears running down her face. The sound of her voice revealed nothing, but the tears streamed down her face at an overwhelming pace. God, why couldn't he ever do the right thing by her? She'd started crying while he'd closed his eyes. He was thinking he needed to come up with something to say and she'd just told him he didn't have to talk.   
  
  
  
"Mac...I...I don't know how to help you. I..." her hand on his arm halted his hesitant words.   
  
  
  
"Don't talk now, Harm. Please. I can't talk. Not now."  
  
  
  
A simple nod was his answer. Taking timed sips of their tea, they stared out the window a while longer, and if his senses weren't focused on her and her alone, he wouldn't have heard her whispered words. "I killed him, Harm."  
  
  
  
He'd figured as much, from her body language and her void eyes. But he hadn't wanted to ask, sensing that at the moment maybe she just needed to know he was there, that *someone* was there for her, when Clayton Webb wasn't; when no one else was. It surprised him to find that it didn't bother him to stand in for Clay. The bitterness and anger was part of his past now, and in its place there was only unrequited love...well, love and a kind of numbness he was sure was God's way of cutting him some slack.   
  
  
  
So she'd killed Sadik. He wanted to know it all. Instead, he waited.  
  
  
  
"Aren't you gonna ask me what happened?" She turned to him then, eyebrows raised in that way she had of doing when inquiring about something she already knew the answer to.   
  
  
  
"I do want to know, but only if you want to tell me, Mac. We don't have to talk" His voice was guarded but gentle, his head bent low, but his eyes were raised meeting hers over the rim of the mug. Finally, he figured he'd said the right thing when he saw her slight smile, but his triumph was short lived. A moment later, her smile turned to a smirk, and before his very eyes her features took on a hard edge he'd seen only a few times before.   
  
  
  
"So, once again, the infamous Harmon Rabb doesn't want to talk, huh?" A sarcastic empty laugh escaped her lips.  
  
  
  
Harm's eyes grew wide and he took a step back. "Mac..."  
  
  
  
"You know what? Save it, Harm. Just spare me, okay?" He could see her hands shaking, God her whole body was shaking, and the hot tea was starting to spill over the sides of the mug as she gestured adamantly toward him. "I don't need this, you hear me?!" Frantically she waved her unoccupied hand between them. "I don't need you, almighty Rabb, Savior of mankind! What do you think you can just stand there and make it all better? Is that what you thought would happen in Paraguay after you walked through the door and saved the world?!"   
  
  
  
God, not Paraguay Mac. Please, no more. "Mac, please calm down. I only meant..."  
  
  
  
"No, YOU calm down. I don't have to stand here and take this bullshit from you again and again. So you think you're so perfect, huh?" He could do nothing but stare as his mouth worked furiously but no words came out.   
  
  
  
"Damn you, Harm! Why can't you say something! Anything!"  
  
  
  
"But I thought you said..." his voice was small, as if he were talking to himself more than her. God, would this woman ever stop tying him into knots?   
  
  
  
"Forget what I said okay! Just forget it!" Frantically, her eyes searched the confines of his apartment as her hand clutched tightly around the strap of her red furry purse. Her head shook violently. "I shouldn't have come here... oh God, what am I doing here?"  
  
  
  
There was something extremely close to panic rising within him now that the initial shock had worn off. He'd never seen her like this. Well, maybe once, but she'd been drunk then. Alarm bells were starting to go off somewhere inside his head. Even though she'd killed Sadik, Harm had a feeling that before he'd drawn his last breath the bastard had done more damage than he could've ever imagined. If he could get his hands on that son of a bitch he'd kill him over again. He'd make him pay for putting that look in her eyes, those thoughts in her head, those doubts in her heart. Taking a deep breath he prayed for wisdom. Extending his arm, he reached for her in a gesture meant to comfort. That was his first mistake. The ceramic mug went flying across the room and landed in a heap of broken pieces against the kitchen counter.   
  
  
  
"Don't touch me! God damn it! I'm not a whore you hear me?! I'm not a goddamned whore! Is that what you think? Huh?! That you can just win me over with a look and a touch and I'll crawl in bed with you and let you rip my heart out..."  
  
  
  
"Mac, please. Calm down, this is not..." Rip her heart out? Jesus Christ. Just who, exactly, was doing the ripping now?  
  
  
  
"Stop telling me what to do! I'm sick of it! Sick of it you hear me?! I can take care of myself and make my own decisions!" Her voice was getting more and more labored with each breath and Harm could see the once soft and gentle features harden until she was almost unrecognizable. "I'm independent, and strong, and I'm a United States Marine and no one can take that away! No one!" her voice a hiss now as she struggled to control her breathing and fight back the tears.   
  
  
  
"I've never thought otherwise Mac. I know who you are, and I respect you for it. Mac, please come sit down..."  
  
  
  
"You don't know a goddamned thing about me, you self-serving arrogant bastard!" Once again her head shook fiercely and her voice turned frightened. If he weren't seeing it with his own eyes he'd never believe this could ever happen. What had that bastard done to her?   
  
  
  
Still, as much as told himself over and over that Mac was reacting to a traumatic event, he couldn't quite make her sharp words roll off harmlessly. If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he wasn't in the best emotional condition himself. However, he wasn't about to bail out on her when she needed him the most. So, taking a deep breath, he prepared to refute her statement, knowing her come back could very well break whatever was left of his heart. Maybe those old wounds he'd thought had started to heal nicely were about to break wide open again. Choosing to concentrate on her instead of his own pain, he spoke in the most soothing tone he could manage.   
  
  
  
"You're wrong. I do know you, Mac. You know I do." 'Keep talking, Mac' he chanted in his head. 'Please, yell and scream and get it all out while I can still stand here and be strong for you.'   
  
  
  
"I'm wrong?! I'm WRONG?! Stop it okay?! You...you...damn you, Harm. I don't need you, you hear me?! I don't need anyone! Especially someone like you with your damned hero complex. Is that why you went to Paraguay? To rescue poor me? Well, let me tell you something, Rabb. Maybe you should've left me down there. Maybe you should've just let them torture me, and kill me."  
  
  
  
His knees almost gave out. "Mac!"  
  
  
  
"Damn it, Harm. Maybe I *wanted* them to!"  
  
  
  
The world stopped spinning and the words died on his throat a few times before he could get them out. For a second, all he could see was her strapped to that table, and feel the thick drops of sweat running down his spine. Her fierce dark eyes stared him down, daring him to challenge her statement. There was something cold and mean sucking the last breath out of his battered heart.   
  
"You don't mean that. Jesus, Mac. Listen to yourself. Please...."  
  
  
  
There it was again; that mocking laugh that made him want to run and pretend the woman he was looking at wasn't really her. And in a way, she really wasn't. Hands on her hips, she sauntered over closer to him and spoke in a deceiving low tone, knowing all too well her next words would most likely destroy him but unable to reign them in. He could do nothing but stand there and take it.   
  
  
  
"What, you don't think I wanted to die down there? Well why the hell not? It's not like I had anything to come back to."  
  
  
  
Oh, God. Guilt, deeper and stronger than he'd ever felt enveloped him and left him stranded in a cloud of desolation. Is that what she'd thought? Would those have been her final thoughts? Would she have died thinking she was worth nothing? Worth nothing to him? Worst of all. If he hadn't gotten there when he did, would she have given up? Would she have accepted her fate and died believing a lie?   
  
  
  
Logically, he knew his guilt was misplaced. It really was, because whatever answer she'd wanted that night before Paraguay, she hadn't even asked the question. As it had become the pattern the past few years, she'd cornered him, and accused him, and had left him whirling around engaged with his own thoughts and fears. He'd called her name, but she hadn't stopped. She hadn't even waited five seconds to hear what he might have to say. She never really had. Still, regardless of the logical arguments, regardless of the 'he said-she said' little sick game they'd gotten so good at playing; Regardless of all that had or hadn't happened. Could he have lived with himself if he'd chosen not to follow her?   
  
  
  
Gazing out the window, at the silent and peaceful night, the anger rose within him as he thought of how lucky those damned stars were to be so far away. Who the hell did she think she was, anyway? Since when did she have the absolute right to pain and suffering? And what gave her the freaking right to blame him for her weaknesses like she'd just done? Nothing to come back to? Like hell she did!   
  
  
  
What about what *he'd* gone through? What about her lack of faith in him when he had needed to be understood the most? What about the long weeks he'd spent behind bars, hoping and praying for his friends' support? What had *he* had to come back to after spending a month in that cold brig cell awaiting his fate, or while traipsing around the world knowing his next mission would most likely end with a bullet through his brain and a star on a freaking wall? What about the pure unadulterated panic he'd felt as she'd stood there and told him in no uncertain terms she was going on a suicide mission after an entire month without so much as a word from her? God, what about the nightmares, and the sleepless nights, and the visions of her that invaded his every waking moment? What about the rules he'd broken, the necks he'd snapped, the lies he'd told, the career he'd deemed worthless? What about everything he'd compromised while walking on the "the dark side"? What about his fears, and his hopes, and his dreams? What about... his heart?   
  
  
  
The stars were lucky indeed.  
  
  
  
Maybe years later he'd sit down and try to remember what had really happened. Like the softest summer breeze the song danced around his mind's eye and it was almost as if the Universe were the red sea and he was seeing it part before his very eyes. If he'd ever believed in God, it had to have been at that very moment.   
  
  
  
Suddenly, the only thing he was aware of was her. From his place at the window, he could smell the soft scent of the perfume he'd given her for Christmas mixing slightly with the aroma of the herbal tea that was now splashed all over the kitchen floor. The beating of her frantic heart was all he had ears for, and his vision seemed to shrink and zoom into her eyes; her big dark scared eyes. Shaking his head, he looked up at the clear night sky one last time, and a tiny star seemed to shine brighter as the sound of Mac's painful sobs penetrated his jumbled thoughts. And just like that, the anger that had been about to devour him moments before seemed like a distant memory.  
  
  
  
...Everybody wants an answer - everybody needs a friend...  
  
A sort of chant seemed to fill the empty space. His name formed on her lips, over and over, as she rocked with her slender arms tight around her drawn up knees. "Harm...oh god...Harm..." And so it went, and for a minute all he could do was stand there and stare.   
  
...We all need a shining star on which we can depend...  
  
Her words were slurred now, unintelligible, and they formed a kind of bridge that linked her to him; like a physical connection that was a true testament to their spiritual one. Could it be that she really needed him? Well, who gave a damn! She was there, and she was hurting, and what was he doing standing around like an idiot? Maybe the reasons why she'd come to him weren't the same ones he'd had for going to Paraguay. Maybe, in a few hours, or minutes, she'd realize where she was and what she was doing and she'd run and this moment would be tucked away never to be spoken of again. But, God help him, there was no way he could turn away from her, from her pain. Not now; not ever. No matter how high a price he paid.   
  
  
  
"Harm..."   
  
  
  
Later, he'd worry about the redness of her eyes, about the way she trembled in his arms, the way she tightened her grip almost painfully around him, the way she kept chanting his name as if every other word had been erased from her memory. But for now, he just wanted to be selfish and hold her as close as physically possible and never let go.   
  
  
  
"Shh... it's okay, Mac. It's gonna be okay."  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Harm. I wanted to kill him. God, I wanted to so badly. But I didn't want to hurt you, Harm. I didn't really... I didn't mean it... I just..."  
  
  
  
His heart was breaking for her - for them - and all he could do was hold her tighter and whisper whatever words of comfort came to his lips. He had no clue what she was apologizing for. Killing Sadik? He knew her enough to know that it would haunt her for the rest of her life. Whatever else she was sorry for, he simply didn't know, and truthfully, had no desire to know at the moment. 'I didn't want to hurt you, Harm...didn't want to hurt you...didn't...want...'   
  
  
  
Well, she had hurt him, and badly. But no one could fault her for feeling the way she did. At least he could be grateful that she'd stopped his advances cleanly in Paraguay instead of leading him on. She'd ripped his heart out in that taxi stand, but she'd also given him the freedom to move on. Mattie was the result, and he couldn't find it in him to regret having her now. For years he'd wondered what it would be like if he ever tried to make a relationship work with Mac. Now, after Paraguay, he had no legitimate reason to justify wondering anymore; even if his heart still caught him off guard every now and then with wonderful hypothetical scenarios of their life together. Well, you couldn't choose who you fell in love with. Maybe Paraguay had been fate. Simply fate.   
  
  
  
"It's okay, Mac. Shh. I'm here and you're safe."   
  
  
  
With Mac securely tucked in his strong arms, Harm offered a silent prayer of thanks. Nothing he'd ever felt before could compare to the relief he felt at that moment. Pure love for her erupted from within him, and even though he knew it wasn't wise to give in, he couldn't help but place a loving kiss on the soft skin of her forehead and hold her a little closer. A soft sigh escaped her, and too emotionally exhausted to try to interpret her response, he settled for knowing she safe and willingly wrapped up in his arms, even if he knew it would only last for a little while. For the first time in a long time it felt like he would get his best friend back. And though he knew the journey towards healing had barely begun, he looked out the window once more and for the first time in his life... simply wished...   
  
  
  
...So tonight we're gonna wish upon a star  
  
We never wished upon before...  
  
  
  
Minutes later, the soft rhythm of her breathing told him she'd lost the battle with exhaustion. Looking down at her dark-haired head resting comfortably on his chest, Harmon Rabb, Jr. smiled. Maybe the stars weren't so lucky after all.   
  
  
  
  
  
...So tonight we're gonna wish upon a star  
  
We never wished upon before...  
  
  
  
  
  
THE END (for now) 


End file.
